Not Made to Stand and Fight
by Kalyte Rose
Summary: Quatre muses about his place in the war to the Dashboard Confessional Song If You Can't Leave It Be...Might As Well Make It Bleed. It's PG just cause its so angsty.


Disclaimer: Me no own NOTHING.

A/N: Well kids, the Angst-er Bunny paid me a visit to tell me that, to put it bluntly, Quatre is so emo. So I wrote a songfic about it to "If You Can't Leave It Be...Might As Well Make It Bleed" by Dashboard Confessional. There is a bathtub involved in this fic but there will be nothing dirty or otherwise extremely offensive. Enjoy!

**You Were Not Made to Stand and Fight**

_-What you found sure upset you _

_Never saw it coming did you?-_

'Hell,' Quatre thought to himself, 'I am in hell.' His shoulders hurt so bad he was afraid they wouldn't be able to hold the weight of his bathrobe. He knelt beside the tub to test the water. Too cold. No matter how many times he told the Maganacs to make it warmer, they never did. 'It's only because they care,' he scolded himself, 'However if they'd just let me draw my own bath…' He drained the tub half way and began refilling it. He shrugged off the robe and slid his slender body into the water. His muscles relaxed, but a headache pounded behind his eyes.

_-It's easy to be surprised _

_With both your eyes sewn closed.-_

The room was silent, with the exception of the running water. However, in Quatre's head, the war was raging. He couldn't tear himself away from the sound of buildings collapsing, mobile suits exploding, and people screaming.

_-Handled with great precision _

_Another faultless execution-_

He couldn't help but think about the soldiers he had killed that day. Rashid had told him to think of it as Sandrock's actions, not his. Those people would never know who he was, what he was like, what kind of family he came from. But Quatre could never think of it that way. Those deaths were all tallies on his approaching grave to him. Those people would never laugh, cry, hate, or love again. Because of him.

_-You're the subject of this exhibition_

_A willing cadaver-_

The thought his heavy heart had been pushing away rose up in his mind. When was it his turn? What wrong move, what wrong information, what wrong place and wrong time would it be his turn? He smiled a sick smile. 'Don't whine,' he thought, 'This is what you signed up for.'

_-A willing cadaver-_

However, had he really known what he was getting into when he accepted the task of creating Sandrock? Had he actually accepted _this_? Days like today proved he hadn't.

_-Scalped, sutured, made whole again.-_

He sank deeper, until the water was over his head. The sound of it in his ears drowned his thoughts momentarily. When he surfaced for air, he noticed blood rising in the water.

_-These cuts are leaving creases_

_Trace the scars to fit the pieces-_

Quatre sat up and noticed a gash in his leg. 'When did that happen?' he wondered and suddenly realized he didn't really care. Normally, he'd go have his sister clean and bandage it, but today he didn't want to. 'Maybe it will benefit me to bleed a little.' This made his heart ache worse than his head. He felt overwhelmed by it all. He cried himself to sleep often, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was weaker than the others.

_-To tell your story_

_You don't need to say a word-_

'But I'm not,' he told himself, 'That look in Trowa's eyes. He hurts the way I do. Heero's eyes are worse. They make him look so much older than he is. Even Duo has this look. Or maybe we're just all weak.' He squeezed his eyes shut, trying again to stop thinking.

_-So call off the calvary_

_You can't save a wretch like me_

_Clean this with kerosene-_

His eyes shot open. 'But why should five guys who aren't even old enough to drink, or drive, or move out of the house for that matter, carry the world on their shoulders?" He felt emotions swirling through his head. He felt hurt, afraid, empty, alone, used…

_-If you can't leave it be, might as well make it bleed. –_

He could say it; it was his mind and his bathtub. He was angry. Furious, enraged, almost possessed by his own passive aggression. He hated them all. The Maganacs. The other pilots. The Alliance. The earth. The colonies. Instructer H. His parents. His mother…

_-Scalped, sutured, made whole again.-_

'That's the whole problem,' he told himself, 'I don't hate any of them. The only person I hate is myself.' He thought harder. 'In fact, the only reason I'm still doing this is because I love each and every one of them.'

_-Your wires are frayed_

_Can't fire right_

_You look better when out of sight_

_You were not made to stand and fight-_

'I might not have the strength to do this forever, but will my heart ever truly leave this conflict?' Quatre wondered, "Would I ever really be able to walk away knowing that I have a role to play in this?"

_-There's something better wrong with you.-_

'Would I really want to?'

_-Your pulse is anemic_

_You're tired of the fire_

_You're bruising too easy, falling behind _

_And no one is waiting for you_

_And no one is waiting for you. -_

He let himself submerge again. He'd never felt so utterly alone, and although, he'd gotten rid of some of his anger, it just made him feel guilty.

_-So call off the quarantine_

_You can't save the rest from me_

_Clean this with kerosene-_

Quatre heard a knock on the door. "I'm taking a bath," he said just loud enough to be heard through the door.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," Rashid answered.

'Why are they always so worried about me?' Quatre thought, 'They really do believe that I'm making a difference in this whole conflict.' He pressed his eyebrows together. 'Am I?'

_-If you can't leave it be, might as well make it bleed._

_Scalped, sutured, made whole again.-_

'I guess its time to stop moping,' he told himself, reaching for his bathrobe.

_-Your wires are frayed_

_Can't fire right_

You look better when out of sight 

_You were not made to stand and fight_

_There's something better wrong with you-_

'It doesn't really matter how I feel, does it? All that matters is what I've done and what I can do.' He shivered slightly as the cool air hit his skin, and he pulled on the robe.

_-And no one is waiting for you_

_And no one is waiting for you. –_

Quatre couldn't help but watch the drain empty the water, the blood, and his heavy emotions.

A/N: Come R&R. It makes my day less blue. And kinda more on the purple side.


End file.
